


This Brief Repose

by WednesdaysDaughter



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, Healing, POV Second Person, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-28 18:31:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3865282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WednesdaysDaughter/pseuds/WednesdaysDaughter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watching the endless night sky, you figure that when a hole opens up and aliens come knocking once more, Tony will plop down on your little island, as if he always knew where you were, and pull you back into the fight.</p><p>By then, maybe, you’ll be ready to accept what you are; be ready to live.</p><p>By then, maybe they will be too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Brief Repose

**Author's Note:**

> Seeing AoU once was all it took for me to find my muse once more. I'm sort of sensing a trend with my Marvel fics and that trend is 2nd person. It's easier for me to write everyone that way I think. Anyway, I'm staying true to the relationships mentioned in the movie (although I do not agree with the way Bruce/Nat was attempted or Clint's family - not because Clint doesn't deserve them but as who he is it's just not... possible, I wanna say? idk, I didn't like a lot of shit Joss pulled, but overall I enjoyed the movie) so don't hate me.

She laughs at the mention of a permanent vacation on a farm.

“Next I suppose you’ll want me to parade around barefoot and tend to the children?” she teases and you’re struck violently by the image before settling for your trademark grin.

“Well, you can’t blame a guy for trying.”

Pepper closes the gray folder she’d been studying when you’d barged through the office door and you know she’s on to you.

“Tony, you could no more stop being Iron Man than I could settle for just being an intern. It’s who you are.”

“Not anymore,” you shoot back quick and sharp, but Pepper just quirks her eyebrow until your shoulders sag in defeat.

There’s a lot you haven’t told her yet about Ultron – about a vision that’s as vivid as the sun streaming through the windows. You can’t bring yourself to vocalize your fear, but she can read it in your eyes anyway.

Pepper cradles your hands in hers and squeezes gently.

“How about I take the rest of the day off and we’ll talk about it over a glass of wine?”

Your lips twitch.

“That sounds very irresponsible of you, Miss Potts. I hope you’re not going to start emulating your old boss. I hear he was a slacker.”

Pepper’s laugh is genuine and you bask in her joy as she pulls you towards the door.

“He’s not so bad.”

\- - - - - - - - - -

The edges are slightly bent, but the picture is as crisp as the day it was printed.

The sky a deep pink, tinted purple as it ascends, is interrupted by a few dark palm trees and the dark ocean below it. There are no words on the front, but you flip it over and read the words carefully written over and over until they stop making sense.

You’ve never been to Fiji; it’s a place of relaxation with very little corruption: At least not worthy enough to kill for. No, you tended to stay away from paradise. Besides, sand is a menace to clean out of engines and the crevices of your suit.

Steve’s running the team through their third set of drills, determined to live up to the standards set by the military fifty years ago. It’s not until he’s reciting a paratrooper chant that you decide to go save them.

You tuck the postcard into your sleeve and head downstairs in time to see Sam fly past, trying to dodge Lt. Rhodes’ missiles. Steve’s engaged Wanda in hand-to-hand combat while the Vision watches with a look of almost wonder on his face.

Deciding to liven things up a bit, you toss a grenade at Steve and watch as Wanda catches it mid-air and tosses it over her shoulder.

“Not even giving me a heads up? Hardly seems fair,” Steve grouses over the explosion.

“Few things in war are,” you reply and Steve acquiesces with a quick nod.

“Tapping in Natasha?” Sam asks as he lands steadily on his feet.

You grin and don’t even give him the benefit of a nod before attacking, the postcard digging into your forearm.

_“Wish I was there.”_

\- - - - - - - - - -

“You seem troubled.”

The gold flashes before your eyes and you blink away fire and lightening before answering.

“I did not think you dealt in uncertainties Heimdall. Perhaps your old age is affecting your sight.”

He is not amused by your banter, but you are not surprised. Heimdall sees too much to be bothered with such trivial emotions. Or so he told you once many years ago.

“My sight is well enough to see that which you fear Thor Odinson, and that which you seek.”

Your grip on Mjolnir tightens, but you are not fool enough to lie.

“Can you see what I cannot?”

Heimdall does not answer right away and when he finally does, you feel no relief.

“I see a puppeteer in the shadows, but not his face – only his golden fist bent on destruction. He is coming for us all.”

“This is ill news, but it is what I expected. Tell me, what of the other infinity stones?”

It seems today is not a day of good news and you curse the misfortune that has befallen you as Heimdall reveals the worst.

“Covered in darkness.”

You bite back your scowl, ‘til your lip is numb and your knuckles crack beneath the strain. You blink and see her face and suddenly Earth is where you want to be most. Heimdall sees your desire and reaches out to clasp your shoulder.

“There is nothing you can do in this moment. Your time will come, as will theirs, but for now it is best to follow your instincts.”

“My instincts, or my heart?” you ask ruefully, watching the endless stretch of stars before you.

“In this case my friend, they are one in the same. Go, and trust I will call for you when I see a face.”

You turn and grab his arm in gratitude and the next time you open your eyes, you see green instead of gold.

\- - - - - - - - - -

You watch from the doorway, ready to intervene at the slightest whimper.

Laura shakes her head at you, content to finish the dishes in the kitchen – absolutely at ease with your latest houseguest. The smell of apple pie fills the air and when he giggles, your chest aches because his wide eyes are looking at her, but all she can see is her brother.

Wanda handles Nate with a careful precision you’d only ever seen from Stark. Briefly you wonder how he’d handle a baby and decide right then and there you never want to find out. The thought of mini-Starks running around is enough to make you want to retire for good.

Your other chicks, as Nat lovingly calls them, are outside running off the last of their energy before bedtime and the sun is getting ready to fall beneath the tree line.

By the time Laura calls them in to wash up, Nate is fast asleep in Wanda’s arms and it’s not until you’ve kissed the others goodnight that you can hear her singing under her breath.

“My mother used to sing to us when we were little. I always made it to the end of the song, but Pietro never could.”

You wonder how she can do it, smile softly at your son in the middle of a house a thousand miles from where her brother died.

Laura slowly approaches, loathe to break up such a sight, but Wanda’s smile never falters when she hands Nate over and her quiet thanks is enough to make a lump form in both your throats.

You never got to thank Pietro for saving your life, but at least you can thank her for coming to dinner.

\- - - - - - - - - -

Four laps in and Sam’s swearing is less creative and more breathless.

You can’t even pretend not to be smug, thinking back to days when you couldn’t take five steps without your lungs aching in your fragile chest.

A million steps later and you still haven’t forgotten that breathless feeling.

Sam’s wheezing and cursing and you’re too busy laughing to care about anything else in that moment. Thor’s off planet and Tony’s hung up his suit and this feeling of peace doesn’t seem like it’ll last long. You’re taking what you can get – one day at a time.

“I hate you,” Sam’s half-joking, half-serious so you send him inside to hit the showers and call an end to the day’s training.

“I suppose even us heroes deserve an early weekend once in a while.”

“Now that’s what I like to hear,” Lt. Rhodes says and salutes before taking off into the sky.

The Vision inclines his head and follows Agent Hill, who’s on the phone with Miss Potts, inside and suddenly the field is empty. An hour later and you’re looking over reports of potential HYDRA bunks in northern Africa when Sam drops a folder in front of you.

“Déjà vu anyone?” you ask.

“Just wait until you look inside.”

There isn’t much to see; a few blurry photographs and a couple lines on a yellow piece of paper. It’s not even in English.

“Please don’t tell me you can’t read French,” Sam groans, but his words fall on deaf ears when your mind finally translates. You look up in disbelief, not ready to hope in case it’s another dead end.

“You found him?”

Sam exhales sharply, and shakes his head.

“He found us.”

\- - - - - - - - - -

The big guy hates sand.

It gets in his eyes when the wind coasts off the ocean and you wake up with it in your nose and mouth.

Your skin is red and your lips are cracked, but you feel better than you have in days. Away from people, from potential victims, you can breathe deep and ignore the guilt that’s sitting heavy on your chest.

There is no real escape; they found you once they can do it again.

You’re hoping she will let you be.

You’re hoping she will understand.

Maybe monsters don’t deserve vacations, but you’re not exactly asking anyone so you figure, what the hell? You always did like the smell of the ocean.

You settle in.

Small hut, very little human interaction, and all the sand you could ask for both in your pants and occasionally in your hair. There is no code green on the beach; the worst thing that happens is the occasional territorial crab and you’re faster than them.

You spend your days meditating and your nights barely sleeping.

You wake up covered in sweat and see blood on your hands, but it’s never real. Eventually the nightmares fade; they always do. The first night you get a solid eight hours of sleep you wake up with tears on your face.

You’ll have to go back eventually. Natasha deserves more than a postcard; they all do.

Watching the endless night sky, you figure that when a hole opens up and aliens come knocking once more, Tony will plop down on your little island, as if he always knew where you were, and pull you back into the fight.

By then, maybe, you’ll be ready to accept what you are; be ready to live.

By then, maybe they will be too.

**Author's Note:**

> GIVE THEM ALL HUGS AND HAPPY ENDINGS OKAY?
> 
> I love ladies talking to ladies and teammates being buddies and ugh I love these jerks so much. Anyway, I hope this was okay, I felt a lot better after writing it. Here's to the next Marvel adventure and whatnot.


End file.
